


who would ever want to be king

by Piyo13



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Light Mythological References, M/M, Magical Realism, POV Victor Nikiforov, and me to include those elements of magic that i like writing about, canon complaint (ish), honestly just an excuse for me to do a character study, through to episode 10 i still don't really know what to make of episode 11 to be completely honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8856886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piyo13/pseuds/Piyo13
Summary: When Victor is ten, he's granted a wish: whatever he desires, in his heart of hearts.
He only wins golds after that.
The thing is, fate has its way of exacting fair punishment, and—well, it's lonely at the top.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i like myths, i like victor nikiforov, and there was some discussion about victor the overpowered skating god and my brain was like... ok but what if... ~~he's not a god in this story but close enough... maybe that'll be the NEXT story...~~

Victor stood on the podium, looking out at the dazzling array of lights and camera flashes over the ice. He smiled, and tried as hard as he could to make that smile reach his eyes as he held up his gold—his fifth in that particular cup—but didn’t think he quite managed it.

He’d won gold, so why was he so discontented?

 

* * *

 

_When he’s ten, Victor tries to run away._

_He doesn’t really have a reason; he just thinks it would be more exciting that way._

_He goes to the park near his house, knowing there’s a large forest there. Surely, he can manage to disappear inside. As he walks through the woods, spots a small fox, yipping and wounded. As he approaches, it snarls, but Victor is undeterred—he wants to see the fox to safety._

_He unwraps his scarf from his neck and holds it in his hands, splayed like a net to catch it without harm to either of them. The fox snarls again._

_Stop,_

_it says, with a girl’s voice. Victor stares, stunned. Then he shakes himself._

_I’m only trying to help you,_

_he replies. The fox eyes him warily._

_Let me pick you up and I will take you somewhere safe,_

_Victor says._

_You will take me to my master?_

_the fox asks._

_Yes,_

_Victor answers._

_If you tell me where to go._

 

* * *

 

Victor had a shelf in his house dedicated to trophies and medals, ribbons and certificates, to any award he won, really. There were only a few silvers and bronzes, most of them from his early childhood.

From before the curse.

He sighed, halfheartedly dusting off some of the older golds before placing the most recent medal on there as well. It didn’t have a place of honor—he’d given up that practice long ago—so it was merely shoved wherever it would fit.

He had brought the curse upon himself, after all. Only himself to blame.

 

* * *

 

_Victor brings the fox to her master. He feels as though he has walked for days when she finally announces,_

_We’re here._

_The darkness that has surrounded them moves, then, and scoops the little fox out of Victor’s arms. Victor doesn’t move, half out of fear and half out of wonder,  as a discussion in a language he doesn’t understand takes place, and then the darkness turns towards him._

_And then the darkness speaks._

_You have done my helper a great favor, and by extension, done one to me as well. In return I will grant you one wish. Tell me, little human, what do you wish for more than anything, in your heart of hearts?_

_Victor looks up at the beast—or no, maybe not a beast; maybe a demon, or a fairy, or some creature straight out of a byliny, all molten eyes and dark silhouette. It blinks, waiting, and Victor does what any good child would do; he heeds it. He looks inside himself, and ponders what he wishes for more than anything, in his heart of hearts._

_I want to win,_

_Victor says, thinking of his rink and the sound of his skates slicing the ice._

 

* * *

 

And then it was time for the Grand Prix Final.

He skated, feeling the emotion—the life—stir inside him, as it only ever did anymore when he danced on his blades.

It faded as soon as he was done, though.

He won.

Again.

 

* * *

 

_I cannot make you win,_

_says the creature._

_Though I can give you the strength that you need so that you can achieve your victories. But there is always a price for glory, exacted by fate._

_The creatures pauses, and Victor feels as though his soul were being weighed._

_Little human, are you sure you wish for this gift?_

_Victor holds his breath, and nods._

_This is what he wishes for, in his heart of hearts._

 

* * *

 

Victor was resigned to another boring banquet—they were always boring, prim and proper and so much needless small talk—but it seemed as though someone, at least, had other plans.

Victor had made note of the dejected figure skater earlier, seeming like he’d been dragged out by his coach, but now the skater—Yuuri Katsuki, supplied the whispered gossip next to him—was dancing. Someone had changed the music from the normal background hum to something with a beat and Yuuri had thrown himself into it.

He’d also, apparently, challenged Yurachka to a dance-off.

It was clear that Yuuri was drunk, and he continued to drink as the night went on, but gradually, more and more skaters joined the dance-off.

Victor eventually decided that he would, too.

He stepped closer to the impromptu dance floor, Yuuri caught sight of him. He smiled broadly, grabbed Victor’s hand—so different from when he’d ignored Victor earlier—and pulled him into the center, with a firm command to dance.

The music changed again, this time a Spanish ballroom, and they danced around each other, and wish each other, and Victor couldn’t help but feel the joy bubble up inside him.

It was only later—later, after a pole dance, mumbled Japanese, and a plea to become coach; later, after the banquet-turned-dance party had ended and everyone had gone home—that Victor realized that, for those few hours, he had been really, truly, _alive._

 

* * *

 

_The creature moves, and though Victor cannot see it, he feels a press on his forehead, and then a wave of cold that makes all his hair stand on end._

_Your wish has been granted, little human,_

_says the voice._

_I only hope you do not come to regret it._

_And then Victor remembers nothing more._

 

* * *

 

Months passed, and every once in a while, Victor caught himself thinking of Yuuri Katsuki, drunk off his ass and yet still, somehow, being captivating and charming and beyond alluring, utterly bewitching in the way he moved with the music.

Or maybe that was just Victor.

The thing is, Victor mused as he took Maccachin for a walk through the park—not the same park from his childhood, but one near his new home, in St. Petersburg, with blessedly open fields—the thing is, being at the top is lonely.

Maccachin wagged his tail and nosed Victor’s hand, and Victor smiled.

Victor knelt down and hugged Maccachin until he squirmed out of the embrace, and then Victor threw snowballs for him until he flopped into the snow, tongue lolling.

Then they went home.

Victor’s phone, neglected on his desk, was vibrating, and Victor picked it up, thumbing through the messages—from his Instagram, his Twitter, and even a few personal ones from other skaters.

They were all linking to the same video.

 

* * *

 

_His parents are alarmed—he went missing for three days, and now that he’s back, his hair is silvery as a blue fox’s pelt._

_Victor likes it though—it’s a reminder that his wish was granted by the creature in the woods. It’s also pretty._

_Victor leaves it to grow, almost convinced that if he cuts it, the wish will end—and that is something he doesn’t want._

 

* * *

 

Victor flies out to Japan the next day.

Yuuri is more aloof and less touchy-feely than last time they met, but Victor shrugs it off. Alcohol does things to people, and besides—he’s actually enjoying himself, for the first time in nearly twenty years.

With Yuuri, it almost feels like the curse can’t touch him.

 

* * *

 

_His hair becomes part of his brand as he continues to sweep every competition he’s entered in._

_He’s winning more gold than he knows what to do with._

_And then there’s… the other thing. At first,Victor hadn’t noticed the jealousy or the ill-temper that seemed to greet him from all his peers._

_He notices now, though._

_As time wears on, the ostracism only gets worse, until Victor doesn’t try anymore. Anyone he knows he knows only because of skating—he lives for skating and he bleeds for it, and he wonders if this is the price the creature warned him about._

_He gets a dog to ease the crippling loneliness, and thinks that it probably is._

 

* * *

 

Victor wasn’t sure when he fell in love.

Maybe it had been the Grand Prix banquet itself.

Maybe it was one of the thousands of hours he and Yuuri had spent together, both on and off the ice—maybe it was the way Yuuri always skated harder than Victor ever asked him to, the small smiles of truly genuine happiness when he landed a difficult jump, the fierce passion he showed every time he ran through his program just once more, trying to iron out all the kinks.

Maybe it was the quiet way Yuuri shared his life with Victor—the way he opened up slowly, until they could find themselves strolling together for hours, talking about everything and nothing and never, not once, being bored.

Whatever the case, Victor reflected, looking down at Yuuri under him, face still flushed from his skate and his head cradled in Victor’s hand, smiling so wonderfully warm back up at Victor—whatever the case, Victor was now, most assuredly, in love.

 

* * *

 

_After he wins the Juniors, he cuts his hair._

_It doesn’t work—Victor continues to win, and to win, and by this point he doesn’t know anymore if it’s the curse or if it’s habit that keeps him on that podium._

_But in the end it doesn’t matter, anyways, because he’s there, and winning, and after a while they all start to blur into the same event, the same routine, boring and predictable and—_

_—and Victor hates it._

_He wishes there was something or someone who could save him from himself._

 

* * *

 

Victor stood on the beach, looking out at the glitter of the water and the reflection of the sun. On his outstretched hand, his ring flashed in the light. Victor smiled, running his thumb over the band.

Maybe, he mused, feeling the salty air throw back his bangs, maybe fate had finished exacting its price.

After all, now he had Yuuri.

**Author's Note:**

> *byliny = what wikipedia tells me is a russian/slavic oral legend (if this is incorrect lemme know^^)


End file.
